The Purple Man: Egg Salad
by TheColorsofSand
Summary: Every career has a beginning. Two start with a simple glance at a newspaper ad. Sometimes the simplest things are the one that convince you that it's just time to get to work.


Disclaimer- not mine, I'm just a geek.

The 'Purple Man':

Egg Salad

by: TheColorsofSand

It was 1980. The U.S was about to boycott the summer olympics, Iron Maiden was about to _rock_, and comedian Richard Pryor would later make a mistake with cocaine.

But honestly, he didn't care.

After all, who gave a shit about the summer olympics? He didn't like Richard Pryor, and he was really more of a metallica fan anyway. The most concerning part of 1980 to date was his current struggle with unreasonably sharp eggshells. He loved egg salad. Which is not an unusual food to have a fondness for. But the work to get to the final satisfaction of eating his sandwich was not something he bothered to undertake on a daily basis. But today, he wanted his favorite sandwich.

The eggs were still a little hot inside their shells, and steamed just slightly as he cracked the first one open. They peeled a little better when they were still hot. The shells cracked easier, but they were also a lot sharper. He hissed a little as a sharp point found its way under his fingernail, and kicked at the cat that clawed at his ankle. There were too many cats in this trailer.

There are too many kids in this tub

There are too many elbows to scrub

I just washed a behind, that I'm sure wasn't mine

There are too many kids in this tub

Grandma collected cats. Mostly because she forgot how many cats she had, which ones were hers, and how to count. The last part was a good thing, because there were a couple of them that he really didn't like. They'd be making their way out any day now. Tuna hid the taste of de-con enough to fool a hungry cat. Of course then he ate the last of the tuna, and the cats had to wait.

Egg number two. Cat hair was in everything. He ate it, slept in it, breathed it in, and was allergic to it. But that wasn't really Grandma's concern.

"You been feedin' my cats?!" He shuddered at the horrid screeching of her voice. Grandma, now far too fat to move around the house herself, thank god, relied on him for everything.

"I fed the cats!" He shouted back. The woman was like a bulbous monster that hid in children's closets. He kept her bedroom door closed, but that really only limited the noise.

"You're starvin' my cats!" She shrieked back, and he sighed heavily. "Bring me the phone! You can't starve my cats! I'll fix you!" He grit his teeth and didn't bother to respond. She'd forget what the hell she was yelling about in a few minutes. He'd taken the phone away weeks ago, when she called the police about her medication, which she insisted was not prescribed to her.

He'd been just about fed up with her at that point, but they didn't have a back yard. Which he made a point to remember. They had a little bit of a front yard, but what with everyone's windows facing their way and just a flimsy, falling wire fence- which hid nothing, he effectively had no back yard.

Egg number three. He could hear her struggling out of bed. It would take a while, but she'd make it over to that damn scooter eventually. Then he'd be in trouble. He made a mental note to disconnect the battery later. Armed with her medicare brand aluminum cane, on her little scooter, and sporting a bad attitude, the only way to escape potential bruising would be to leave the house.

Egg number four. Goddamn he needed a job. Living with Grandma was free, which was important, but even he wasn't that cheap. He had made a half-hearted attempt to find a job, even interviewed for one or two. But apparently he wasn't cut out for telemarketing- his slight stutter striking again. It was becoming more and more apparent, as yet another cat pawed at his feet, that he needed to get the fuck out of there.

"What are you doin' in my house? I hear you!" Grandma had alzheimer's. Useful on some occasions- highly irritating on others.

"Of course I'm in your house I l-l-l-live here!" He searched for the mayonnaise. Unscrewing the lid, he could tell it wasn't quite on the right side of fresh, but it was doing better than whatever was in that jar on the top shelf. It was good enough. Besides, he could hear Grandma struggling with her bedroom door.

"It's about time your mother had a piece of you, the way you treat your own Grandmother!" he rolled his eyes and pulled out the last two slices of bread. Her brain really was fried if she thought his mother would be coming back. He had his sandwich, at last, just as Grandma was getting her scooter down the hall. Yes he would definitely be looking for a job today- because he had no desire to deal with these stupid cats, and this crazy woman any longer. He still had an egg left. He searched under the sink as Grandma got hung up in the hallway. Cats liked boiled eggs, didn't they?

"Here k-kitty, kitty, k-kitty."

He grabbed the morning paper on his way out, Grandmother shouting something about her medication and her cats. He'd probably forgotten about both, honestly.

But he wasn't concerned. He had a few phone calls to make.


End file.
